


Firelight

by Azvolrien



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Short One Shot, War of the Thorns | Burning of Teldrassil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azvolrien/pseuds/Azvolrien
Summary: Friendships don't always form along faction lines. In the shadow of a burning tree, two old friends meet on a lonely Darkshore beach for what they hope will not be their final conversation.





	Firelight

**Author's Note:**

> I don't write a lot of fanfiction these days, but between recent events in World of Warcraft and my ongoing headcanons for my in-game characters, I felt inspired to address them in some way. This short piece was the result.

            The black tauren sat above the tideline, watching Teldrassil burn. The vast tree had been in flames for hours, and still huge gouts of smoke and fire billowed from its branches, blackening the sky and casting a bloody light on the shore. A few Alliance ships were still moored around its roots, safely away from the trunk and beyond the reach of falling branches. Behind the tauren, a huge wolf with fel-green fur skulked among the trees. The rest of the beach was empty; only a few demolisher tracks and countless footprints remained of the rest of the Horde, long since decamped to the south.

            The wolf growled. One of the tauren’s ears flicked up.

            “ _Die, Horde scum!_ ”

            The tauren rolled his eyes and ducked, an instant before a strangely canine panther sailed over his head. The druid hit the sand shoulder-first, skidded, and rolled onto his feet, swinging immediately back on the attack with a snarl.

            A small white spark struck him on the nose and he reeled back, whimpering.

            “There are some rock pools over that way,” said a voice in accented Common. “Go cool yourself off, before I ask the nearest water spirit to do it for you.”

            The druid shifted back to his true form – an impressively scruffy young worgen – and loped off up the beach with a last glare at the tauren.

            The tauren looked up at the newcomer, a tall draenei with long hair loose around his shoulders. A pair of axes hung from his belt, while a cloak crafted from the scaly pelt of an Argus panthara was buckled across his chest.

            Wordlessly, the tauren held up a metal canteen. The draenei took a quick slug of the strong rum, wiped his mouth on his arm, and sat down on the sand beside the tauren.

            “Huntmaster Argared,” he said.

            “Farseer Vychegda.” Argared nodded along the young worgen’s footprints in the sand. “Friend of yours?”

            “A student of sorts, or perhaps a ward,” said Vychegda. “What Zaka’ril and all your other young apprentices have been to you, he is to me. His name is Cedric Windstone. He is… an emotional young man.”

            Argared sighed and picked up a handful of ashy sand. “Can’t say I blame him right now,” he said, letting the sand trickle through his fingers.

            They both gazed out to sea.

            “I have never fought for the Horde,” said Vychegda, his eyes following a massive blazing branch as it snapped off from the tree and plummeted into the water with a splash that rocked the ships. “What draenei ever could? But I have argued for you, ever since the crash of the Exodar. ‘It has been many years since the destruction of Draenor,’ I said. ‘Many of those responsible are now long dead. This new Horde deserves a chance to prove itself, before we condemn them all for their predecessors’ actions.’” He bowed his head. “Now… Now I wonder why I ever bothered.”

            “Maybe you shouldn’t have,” said Argared sadly.

            “Maybe.” Vychegda threw one arm out towards the tree. “This gained the Horde nothing,” he said. “The tree was full of civilians. Casualties. Trainees. _Children_ , by the Light! Your Warchief cannot believe this will go unanswered! Already there is talk in Stormwind of-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Argared… _Why?_ ”

            “A lot of us are asking the same question,” said Argared, still with his eyes on Teldrassil. “I think only Sylvanas can give you an answer.” He went on more quietly. “This wasn’t the plan I was told. We were going to occupy Darnassus, not destroy it. The civilians would have been spared.” He sighed again.

            “I got some of them out, before the smoke overcame me,” said Vychegda. “Not many. Not enough. But some.”

            “I didn’t hear Sylvanas give the order,” said Argared. “I was further up the beach. But when I saw the demolishers firing…” He lowered his head to his hands, his fingers to either side of his horns, but did not take his eyes off the flames.

            “Then I will ask an easier question,” said Vychegda. “Why are _you_ still here?”

            “Waiting for a friend,” said Argared.

            Vychegda looked over his shoulder. The wolf watched him closely through gleaming amber eyes. “I have never seen you without Crane nearby before,” he said slowly. “Where…?”

            “Up there, somewhere,” said Argared, pointing towards Teldrassil. “We agreed he would get on faster alone.” He took a deep breath. “It takes more than a bit of fire to harm a drake. I’m not sure about what a bit of azerite might do.”

            “Crane is clever and swift,” said Vychegda. He took another sip from the rum flask and handed it back to Argared. “I expect he will be fine.”

            They watched in silence for a while longer. Cedric left the rock pools and padded down to the edge of the water, where he began looking through the wreckage drifting ashore. Not all of it was of wood and metal.

            A new, sharper shadow appeared through the smoke. Both Argared and Vychegda leapt to their feet as Crane cleared the edge of the conflagration and went into a terrifying drop before his outstretched wings caught an updraught, lifting him higher above the water. Cedric looked up from his grim beachcombing as Crane made his slow, wavering way towards the shore, each beat of his wings heavy and laboured. He didn’t make it to the beach; instead he crashed down in the shallows under the weight of four unconscious night elves slung across his back and two equally limp worgen clutched in his front claws. Argared waded in to jam his shoulder under Crane’s chest, lifting the exhausted white drake high enough for Vychegda to drag the two worgen to the beach. Cedric, after a quick sidelong glance at Argared, hurried over to help carry the night elves. Freed of his burden, Crane shuddered hard and shrank down into the form of a slender white-haired high elf.

            Argared steadied him before he could collapse. “How many?” he asked.

            Crane shook his head. “Too many,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “I don’t know if _these_ ones will survive, either.” He lurched back to the beach and fell flat on the sand.

            Argared nodded and knelt on the beach beside the rescuees. “I know you’re more a warrior shaman than a healer,” he said over the rasp of their breathing, “but is there anything you can do for them?”

            “We shall see,” said Vychegda. “Smoke inhalation is difficult, but you cannot deal much with fire elementals without picking up a thing or two…” He knelt facing the sea, rummaged in his pack, and planted a totem in the centre of the row. As Vychegda closed his eyes in concentration, the water rose to surround the casualties and began to shimmer with a soft bluish light. After several minutes, it faded and the sea receded once more. The six were clearly not fully recovered, but their burns looked days old rather than hours, and their breathing was a little easier.

            “That should at least get them on their feet again,” said Vychegda. “Enough to bring them to a proper healer. There is a mage camped to the east, near the mountains. She can make us a portal to Stormwind.”

            “Trustworthy?” asked Argared.

            “There are few more so. She is Lightforged.” He added in a low voice, “You should leave before they come to. I… doubt they will react well to the sight of a tauren right now.” Cedric narrowed his eyes, watching for Argared’s reaction.

            Argared just nodded and heavily stood up. Cedric looked a little disappointed; Crane hid a small smile.

            Cedric’s eyes widened again as Argared turned to face him, apparently just realising that he barely came up to the tauren’s chest.

            “I fought in the Northrend campaign,” Argared said quietly. “I was at the Wrathgate, and the last march on Icecrown Citadel. I’ve put _plenty_ of undead back in the grave. I have enough arrows for a few more if need be. And a word of advice.” Cedric frowned; Argared leant in a little closer. “If you’re sneaking up on someone, save the war cries until _after_ you hit them. And if you’re sneaking up on a hunter?” He winked and jabbed a thumb at the wolf still lurking among the trees. “Watch out for the pet.” He looked back at Vychegda. “Keep arguing for us, if you can bear to,” he said. “Sylvanas isn’t the only voice in the Horde.”

            Vychegda nodded. “Goodbye, my friend. I hope the next time we see each other is not from across a battlefield.”

            Argared nodded back. They clasped forearms for a brief moment, before he picked up a quiver of yard-long arrows and a bow that only something with the muscles of a tauren could draw, lifted Crane onto his shoulder, and walked toward the trees. The wolf followed him into the forest. Before long, there was no sign of them but a line of hoofprints on the sand.

            “You’re just letting him go?” asked Cedric as the first of the night elves began to stir.

            “I think you and I will both spill more than enough Horde blood in the coming battles,” said Vychegda. He lifted one hand; the earth shook beneath them, and a stone elemental fought its way free of the ground. “For now, we must get these people to Shanaa’s camp.” The elemental lifted two of the night elves, while Vychegda picked up one of the injured worgen and helped the other to her feet. Cedric cast a final look along Argared’s tracks, and took on the form of a great stag to carry the rest of the elves toward the mountains.

            Across the water, Teldrassil continued to burn.


End file.
